Seattle - March 12, 2016

Waiting is when longing loses heart.

But now waiting too fades. Only crushed petals where once love grew to meet you. On your way to work. On your way to your house. On your way to sleep. On your way back from the bread shop for the thousandth time. At the table where you sit alone morning after morning, night after night. Your wife long ago dead, your children grown and flown the nest, biting into your toast and cheese in front of the television, where you say to yourself: Oh, I must trim the hairs in my ear.

In which order do we lose? Heart first and then hope? Or hope and then heart?

I dreamt that while collecting your mail, I forgot my joyful heart. Then I passed a thousand-year-old building, where inside the sun exploded in its ceiling’s expanding dimensions and its sundrenched gardens offered all those who had come inside, a thousand greens. A thousand pinks. A thousand reds. 

Seattle – March 12, 2016

Los Angeles – March 16, 2016